


Elpis

by stone_cold



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #JustFuckMeUp, Anal Sex, Breath Control Play, Character Death, Don't do this at home kids!, Hannibal and Will in established relationship, Jack still thinks Will is 'his man', M/M, Not Beta'd, Will knows Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, asphyxia scares the holy hell outta me, little bit o' gore, see notes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:31:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7230118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stone_cold/pseuds/stone_cold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will fears his becoming - Hannibal is, as always, willing to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elpis

**Author's Note:**

> Pandora and husband Epimetheus - Pandora opened a box, releasing all the World's ills - "to open Pandora's box" means to perform an action that may seem small or innocent, but that turns out to have severely detrimental and far-reaching negative consequences. Elpis (Hope) was the only thing that didn't escape the box.
> 
> Some conversations taken from 'Tome-Wan'. Will's dream sequence from 'Apertivo' happens for real during the roast pig dinner scene in 'Naka-Choko'.
> 
> Auto-erotic asphyxia is sexual breath control play practiced alone - erotic asphyxia is practiced with a partner. 
> 
> Jack still thinks Will is 'his'.

.........................................................

Late evening found Will and Hannibal in their mid-week therapy session. Hannibal sat like a sentinel, still and straight in his leather high-backed chair, his brown eyes alert, listening, analysing. Will sprawled in his as much as he could without appearing rude. He couldn't understand why Hannibal felt the need to continue with this, it wasn't as if they couldn't discuss things in Hannibal's kitchen over supper. Or in Hannibal's bed between fucks. Either suited him right down to the ground.

This, on the other hand, was too clinically intrusive. There was no intimacy ... and he needed that from Hannibal much more than he was able to express. But Hannibal enjoyed it. And Will found more and more that his actions were governed by what his lover wanted and needed, except in one thing. A not-so-small thing. A humungous thing. A matter of his becoming. In this respect, he was at an impasse between what Hannibal wanted and needed and what Will could _allow_ himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed.

'Hannibal ... your veneer of self-composure gives  
an extreme sense of the surreal. So much about this feels like a dream - its ... unattainable.'

'Dreams prepare us for waking life, Will.'

'Yes, its one thing to dream - it's entirely another to  
understand the nature of the dream.'

'You're waking up to who you are. That's all you need to understand. There are some extraordinary  
circumstances here, Will. And some unusual opportunities.'

Will snorted with amusement.

'For whom, exactly?'

'For both of us.'

The younger man studied his lover, his storm-blue eyes seeking out Hannibal's, questioning.

'You're fostering co-dependency.'

Hannibal snorted in return and shook his head.

'Is that what I'm doing? I'm your psychiatrist, Will. I only want what's best for you.'

Will raised his eyebrows in amusement.

'Oh, Please. Every moment of cogent thought under your psychiatric care is a personal victory.'

And Hannibal just smiled, like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

'You're applying yourself to my perspective as I've been applying  
myself to yours.'

The younger man narrowed his eyes and sighed, a small smile playing about his lips. He held up his hands in resignation.

'You're right, Hannibal. We are just alike. You're as alone as I am. And we're both alone without each other.'

'Your thoughts are no more bound by fear or kindness than Milton's were by physics, Will. You are both free and damned to imagine anything.'

Hannibal studied him quietly for a moment, then leaned forward in his chair.

'You are familiar with Schrödinger's cat, of course?'

The younger man sighed and shook his head. ' _Really_ , Dr Lecter?'

'My apologies, of course you are. But do you see where I'm going with this, Will? In terms of your psyche?'

'Ummm ... lets see ... I'm locked in a box and I'm both dead and not dead. Well, you certainly have a point. There are mornings where that concept has a certain feasibility.' 

Hannibal sighed, blinked slowly and silently counted to five. If there was ever any doubt that Will Graham was put on this Earth to test him to his limits, it disappeared on the breath of that sigh.

'Your nature ... your true nature ... is the cat. The cat hides within the box in the darkest corners of your mind, abandoned, denied, starved of life. Of course in your case, the cat is less a cat and more a wolf with ravenous jaws and an instinct for carnage. Will you allow the wolf to die in the box, Will? Continue to let it devour you from within? Or will you free it and yourself from that dark and hopeless place?'

Will's brow furrowed in thought. Hannibal, as always, was skating closer to the truth than Will would have preferred. Will knew exactly what was in that box. He tilted his chin upwards with a coy smile.

'Would you play Epimetheus to my Pandora, Hannibal? Stand by whilst I open the box, whatever the consequences?'

'I would. And consequences be damned.'

Hannibal's lips curled in a sensuous smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

'You know ... you worry too much, Will.'

Then he winked.

'Are you aware that when the brain is deprived of oxygen, it induces a lucid, semi-hallucinogenic state called hypoxia? Abnormalities in the cerebral neurochemistry involving one or more of the interconnected neurotransmitters, dopamine, 5-hydroxytryptamine, and β-endorphin have been reported in all the conditions associated with hallucinations, which means you cannot enter such a state purely through a lack of oxygen - it is achieved through the practice of erotic, or auto erotic, asphyxiation. It would, I believe, be an excellent exercise in clarity.'

Will blinked several times in quick succession, a frisson of fear (or was that delight) rippling through his body. 

'Ok, I'm not even sure I want to know where you're going with this, Hannibal.'

'Think of it as the first step to complete inner clarity and acceptance of the creature that you are. You behave like a sheep - blindly following the shepherd, embracing all that binds you to societal norms. Jack Crawford is the shepherd and he's leading you to the slaughter, Will. You are his sacrificial lamb and when the time comes to wield the blade, he will not hesitate. Will you bare your throat to him, or become what you are meant to be - the Wolf?'

Will laughed uneasily, rubbing his hand over his face. 'Ok ... Now we're getting to it. You want me to ... indulge in auto-erotic asphyxiation to let the Wolf out of the bag ... or box, so to speak?'

Hannibal smiled his patented serial-killer smile. 'My dear Will, I wouldn't dream of allowing you to face this alone.'

...............................................................................................

Hannibal arose from his chair and moved towards to the younger man. He was, Will thought, a thing of startling beauty, his maroon eyes sparkling with desire and danger. He moved like water, fluid and silent, then, reaching down, he took Will's hand and pulled him effortlessly to his feet, inching closer until they stood toe-to-toe.

'I could show you things you’ve never even dreamt of, Will. Give you such exquisite pain and pleasure that you’d willingly die for me if I asked you to. Just give in to your instincts.'

Hannibal raised his hand and gently stroked Will's cheek with his fingers, then cupped his chin. He could feel the younger man trembling. Will's breath caught in his throat and his eyes were drawn to the older man's mouth, open slightly to allow the pale tip of his tongue to snake out and moisten his sensuous lips. Hannibal's face moved closer to his, warm breath tickling his ear.

'Are you frightened of me, Will ... your beast in sheep's clothing?'

'Frightened? No ... not of you ... frightened of _me_. Of what I'll _become_.' 

Will's voice faltered, tethered between a sigh and a sob. He raised his arms, his hands reaching to clutch the front of the older man's shirt. His fingers were clenching, unclenching, knees quivering in a sudden adrenalin rush, fight-or-flight impulses battling for dominance over his incessant, unyielding need for release, for relief from the awful fucking burden within him. For Hannibal.

'So Will. Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?'

'I ... I don't know. I can't think straight anymore ... fuck, please ... help me, Hannibal ... I just need ... I need ...'

'Ssssssh ... hush now, Will ...'

Hannibal crooned, pulling the trembling man into a tighter embrace and placing a chaste kiss on his sweating forehead. He could feel the pounding of the other man's heart and smell his fear-sweat and desperation and something inside him twisted. This creature, this wolf was his and it was _whimpering_ like a hurt and frightened child. A black rage uncoiled in Hannibal's belly. This could not, would not stand.

'Let me help you, Will. Let me help you escape ... let me help you scream.'

And then ... oh ... Hannibal's face ... Hannibal's _mouth_ was so close to his that every word he spoke brushed his lips against Will's, and each time they did it was like being struck by lightening. His head was full of Hannibal's words and the pounding of his own heart, his entire body crackled with the power of those words and the sheer power of _him_. Hannibal was a black hole. Will was being sucked inside and all he could bring himself to do was whimper for more.

Hannibal's mouth found his neck and he peppered it in tiny, biting kisses, lips and teeth becoming more and more insistent with each inch of skin he covered.

'Oh, my hungry little Wolf ... I am going to give you everything that you've secretly yearned for. No more waiting.'

One of Hannibal's hands reached up, fingers tightening in Will's hair prompting a yelp of pain and ... and oh god ... yes ... visceral need from the younger man. Hannibal ground his hips against Will, hissing in response as their erections created the most delicious friction. He was so close now ... Will's forts were collapsing, the Wolf in ascension and Hannibal would finally have his heart's desire. His own inner beast howled in triumph. 

'I will give you love so fucking black that you'll be lost inside it forever. I. Will. Swallow. You. Whole.'

Will cried out then ... a hungry, desperate little moan, and pulled away slightly from his lover. Their eyes met and Will was captivated by the sheer strength of will, the sheer passion flowing from Hannibal. He tried to speak but managed only a breathy croak.

'Show me ...'

It was only when his back connected with the wall in a bone-shuddering crack that Will even realised Hannibal had moved, propelling them both across the room and colliding with the first solid object they encountered. If the breath hadn't been shocked from his lungs by the impact, then the expression on the older man's face would surely have had the same effect. Hannibal's eyes were black and glittering, his nostrils flared, breath hissing between his teeth. He looked demonic, bestial and thoroughly undone, and then his mouth was on Will's, demanding and hot and brutal.

'I will have you, little Wolf. No more games. No more _cajoling_. No more mercy. You belong to me - with me. Negotiations are over.'

The two men slid to the floor in a maelstrom of harsh gasps and grappling limbs. Hannibal was like a wild beast, ripping the shirt from Will's back before yanking off this trousers and throwing them into the corner of the room. No room for good manners here, decorum was most definitely off the menu. He rose to his feet, hands grabbing his own clothing, ripping and tearing, his eyes riveted on Will's face and breath coming hard and heavy. Naked now, he growled and stroked himself, cock rock-hard and jutting. He stalked quickly to his desk and removed a small bottle from the drawer before returning, falling to his knees and crawling on top of Will.

His boy lay, shivering like a virgin on her wedding night, goose bumps pebbling his lithe body. Hannibal braced himself on his knees and elbows and wrenched the lid from the bottle, pouring lube on his hand, on Will ... everywhere. Bottle discarded, he continued his assault on Will's mouth and their bodies crushed together, slithering sensuously, their cocks rubbing and sliding together in a delicious tease.

Will whispered his name hoarsely, arching his body towards the older man in supplication.

'Hann ... Hannibal ... please ... oh god ... need you in me ... please ...'

And who was Hannibal to disappoint? His hand danced its way down over Will's stomach and he nudged Will's thighs further apart with his knee, enjoying the younger man's sharp intake of breath as his fingers skirted over tight silken balls to his perineum. He massaged the puckered ring of muscle, working the lube in first with the tip of his thumb, then his finger, dipping deeper with each upward thrust of Will's hips. The feeling of Will's tight hole as it spasmed greedily around his finger made him moan aloud. He added a second finger, stretching, scissoring and had to bite his own lip to garner some self-control. His own erection still rubbed against Will, sending him into a frenzy, and he had to resist the urge to mount the boy there and then and fuck him into the floor.

By the time Hannibal had inserted a third finger, Will was nearly delirious, hips bucking upward and nearly unseating the older man, Hannibal's name a constant litany streaming from his breathless lips.

'Now ... FUCK ... Hannibal ... now ... now ...'

There was scarcely a breath between Hannibal removing his fingers and wrenching Will's thighs up and apart, and ramming himself into the younger man's eager body. He felt Will's hole clench tightly before its final submission. It practically sucked him in and he cried out as his cock was enveloped in that hot, wet vacuum.

Will moaned loudly, head thrashing, his hands tightly gripping the backs of his own thighs, allowing Hannibal to use him roughly and as he pleased. Sensation was screaming in every nerve in his body and his cock was leaking a steady stream of pre-cum over his belly. He hooked his legs around Hannibal's back and grabbed the older man's hair with both hands, pulling his head towards his and frantically kissing and biting his face and neck. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer, could feel every sinew in his body begin to tense up, to _sing_ with pleasure.

And suddenly, Hannibal's large hand was on his face ... over his face ... covering his mouth and nose. Will froze momentarily, then reached up to pull Hannibal's hand away. If anything, the older man tightened his grasp, Will's increasingly frantic scrabbling with his fingers ineffective. He could feel Hannibal leaning on his chest, pinning him down before he reached with his other hand and grabbed Will's wrists in a vice-like grip. Will tried desperately to draw a breath, but there was no respite and the fear ... oh god ... please ... the fear. He bucked wildly, lungs beginning to burn through lack of air and red spots appearing in the periphery of his vision. The blood pounded like thunder in his ears and he could feel his heart stutter and judder within him. It occurred to him amidst this fucking insanity that they hadn't picked a safety word ... not that he would have had the breath to use it.

Hannibal strained above him, still rutting, his lips curled in a snarl, a small thread of saliva hanging from his chin and his breath rasping in effort. And oh god ... were those _tears_ in his eyes? So this was it. Will was going to die. Hannibal was actually going to end him. It was over.

Will felt his body begin to sag. He was aware of movement above him, of Hannibal suddenly gripping his cock tightly, and ... for fucks sake ... he was still hard, achingly hard. His muscles bucked, in pleasure or oxygen deprivation, he had no idea ... and this whole thing ... the whole Hannibal thing ... killing thing ... Jack fucking Crawford ... Freddie fucking Lounds ... Alana thinks I'm SO unstable .... Oh, Abigail .... the whole PAIN and self-loathing and NEED thing ... it was all so fucking, hilariously, manically, pathetically funny. Will's sure he's actually laughing now, although Hannibal won't know with the struggling and rasping and ... suddenly, the thought occurs ...

No.

NO. I'm not fucking doing this. I'm not dying here, on this floor, with a cock in my ass. I am not just another entry in Hannibal's rolodex. I'm more than this, I'm more ... I've been a good boy and its not fair because I'm MORE ... I'm BETTER ... I'm STRONGER ... I SEE ... I HAVE TEETH AND I WILL FUCKING END THEM ALL.

Will's vision is almost gone, his eyes full of fireflies, ears full of thunder and the pound ... pound ... pound of his heart gets even slower. Hannibal is still rutting. Still wanking him. And when Will finally cums in a molten stream of lightening and clarity, he knows he's never cum harder in his life ... never been better ...

And he's always been a wolf.

I WILL FUCKING END THEM ALL.

Hannibal let go of his nose ... his mouth .... and Will was reborn in blood and cum, screaming for breath. Screaming for life. Howling to the moon.

...............................................................................................

There was an audible intake of breath as Hannibal entered his dining room. The table was lavishly decorated with settings for three and he majestically placed a fragrant, glistening roast pig, resplendent on a silver platter, in front of his guests.

Jack Crawford whistled softly in appreciation.

'My, my, Doctor Lecter ... you have truly outdone yourself this time. This is a wonderful treat.'

Hannibal smiled, somewhat smugly, and expertly served his guests wine before taking his own seat.

'Thank you, Jack. Tonight we are having brined and roasted whole suckling pig. A gift from a friend.' 

Will snorted, raising an eyebrow in amusement. 'Your friend, not the pig's friend.'

Hannibal began carving the succulent meat, brow crinkled in concentration and, Will believed, just a hint of annoyance.

'I'm afraid I don't agree, Will. There are those that raise livestock who have a genuine affection for them. The farmer who hand rears lambs loves them and sends them to slaughter.'

The younger man rolled his eyes and murmured quietly under his breath. 'Now that's a concept I do understand.'

Hannibal set down the carving knife carefully and passed plates with precisely cut slices of pork to each of his guests. Jack received his with a smile and a murmur of appreciation.

'Indeed, they love and kill what they love. How fortunate for us this evening, Doctor Lecter.'

Hannibal nodded his agreement and took his place at the table. He glanced briefly at Will - the younger man had his eyes closed and was chewing his meat slowly with an expression not unlike ecstasy.

'Yes, they eat what they love. You might say that its a paradox.'

The three sat in silence for a short while, enjoying their repast. Eventually, Jack laid his fork across his plate and dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

'Speaking of which, Freddie Lounds thinks the two of you are a paradox. She sees something no one else sees.'

Will's eyes slowly found his and he fixed Jack with a curious stare. 'And what would that be, Jack?'

'That neither of you is the killer she's writing about, but together, you might be.'

A chilly silence descended. Will tried not to take personally the hard glint that had suddenly sparked in Jack's eyes. Tried and failed. He frowned momentarily, lips quirking in an uncertain grin.

For his part, Hannibal raised his glass towards the younger man, his maroon eyes glittering with dark amusement.

'Dear Freddie must consider you a terribly bland interview subject if she's already resorted to fiction. My condolences, Will.'

Jack remained immune to Hannibal's attempt at brevity, his eyes fixed doggedly on Will.

'Oh, Freddie won't be fenced in by something as malleable as the truth. Freddie has no boundaries.'

There was a moment of respite as each of them enjoyed their wine. Will fought the urge to fidget in his seat. He wasn't sure what Jack was playing at, but there was, undeniably, a game of some kind afoot. Even more annoying was Hannibal's obvious delight in this word-fuckery. He returned Jack dogged stare and raised the stakes with a smug smile. 

'Someone with no boundaries is a psychopath. Or a journalist.'

Jack hummed in agreement and he glanced from Will to Hannibal, then back to Will. 

'Freddie isn't the only one without boundaries. Your relationship doesn't seem to know many. Patient and therapist. Friend and enemy.'

Hannibal canted his head, his eyes appearing nearly red in the soft light of evening.

'Crossing boundaries is different than violating them, wouldn't you say, Jack?'

Hannibal looked directly at Jack with what Will could only describe as a predator's glare. Word-fuckery time, it seemed, was drawing to a close. Anticipation and a certain amount of arousal squirmed in Will's guts like worms.

Jack, to his credit, did not balk. He straightened in his chair, carefully folding and then setting his napkin on the table beside his plate. It wouldn't do to be rude ... not at Hannibal's table.

'Boundaries will always be subject to negotiation' he observed, then raised his eyebrows, questioningly. 'It's just hard to know where you are with each other.'

Will issued a sharp little bark of amusement and glanced at Hannibal.

'We know where we are with each other. Shouldn't that be enough?'

Hannibal once again raised his glass in salute, his shark's smile perfectly on fleek.

'Better the devil you know, wouldn't you say, Will?'

And with no other prompt, Will knew that it was time.

A frisson of anticipation and nervous energy unfurled at the base of his spine and raced to his every extremity. His heartbeat thudded heavily, nearly audible in the sudden vacuum of silence, but it held steady, held _true,/i >._

Time ...

Slowed ..

Down.

Crawford sat, silent and still as stone, before swivelling his head slowly towards Will in a nearly imperceptible nod. 

Will smiled in return, a sad, short-lived bittersweet thing, before glancing towards Hannibal for his cue. Hannibal's answering grin was beatific, although his glance was terse and, as one, the two men quickly pushed back their chairs. There was a sharp intake of breath, realisation drenching Jack in fear and adrenal and he dropped his wineglass, reaching inside his jacket for his gun. It was his misfortune that he just wasn't fast enough.

Hannibal was on his feet in an instant, reaching across the table to grab Jack's arms, preventing him from drawing his gun. He turned to Will, red eyes glittering, yet oh so cold, whilst Jack stared wide eyed in horror, betrayal blindsiding him, as Will moved towards him holding Hannibal's carving knife.

Time slowed to a crawl, yet passed in the blink of an eye for Will as he moved swiftly behind Jack, cranked up on adrenalin, but unafraid ... calm. Steely. Hannibal struggled to hold Crawford as he writhed to escape. He growled deep in his chest.

'Will ... the time would be now!'

Will reached forward grabbing Jack's head, yanking it back roughly by the hair. He caught a quick glimpse of Jack's eyes, the whites rolling back in his head in terror, fear-sweat sheeting down his dark skin like diamond chips, mouth a red 'oh' of horror and fear.

Will's hand seemed to raise itself, the silver blade of the knife glistening and voracious ... gluttonous, even. A face was reflected there, dark brown curls sticking to a clear forehead, storm-blue eyes glinting like the sharpest, cruellest razor, pupils blown in exhilaration ... _his_ face. He marvelled that in that split second, even now amidst all of this, he still looked human. 

And oh ... Will's head was suddenly full of bright light and white noise, every molecule in his body vibrating with sensation. He dimly heard himself roar like a wild animal and felt his lips curl back from his teeth in an animalistic snarl. Swiftly, deeply, Will swept the blade across Jack's throat. There was a millisecond of purest silence and calm before the world exploded in a paroxysm of crimson.

The blood gout from Crawford's throat erupted up, out and around Will and Hannibal, spraying them with ruby-chips of warm blood and filling the air with its sweet, metallic scent. Will turned his head a little, the thick, heady substance spraying his face, clinging to his eyelashes and filling his mouth with coppery saltiness. There was an earthiness to it that he recognised and he had a split-second sense memory of his hands around Abigail Hobbs throat as she had bled out in her father's kitchen. Crawford's body jack-knifing in cadaveric spasms brought Will back to himself, and the room was filled with the sound of his death rattle loud, harsh and implacable.

Will dropped the knife onto the floor, let go of Jack and backed away from the chair, not stopping until he hit the wall, where he stood panting and trembling. That trembling did not stop until Hannibal had taken him there, against that same wall, and fucked him to within an inch of his life.

.............................................................................................

The call came a day later after fruitless panic and searching when Jack didn't return to home to Bella or indeed to work the following morning. Frantic phone calls to Hannibal and Will, amongst others, had confirmed the FBI's worst fears ... Jack's location was unknown ... and the Chesapeake Ripper still at large. What was to be done? Conclusions were inevitably drawn.

A man and his dog on their early morning work happened across the crime scene. Within 15 minutes of his hysterical, garbled call the very best of the FBI were there to assess the tableaux. And what an image it was. Will Graham stood silently at the scene, head slightly bowed and nostrils flared, the FBI's trick pony, Jack's fragile little teacup, Quantico's pseudo Obi Wan, their only hope. Will didn't need to close his eyes or engage his 'magic' to 'see' this time, however one should always keep up appearances.

Jack Crawford was nailed to a tree, resplendent and glistening, his own skin removed and artfully arranged around his neck like a cowl. Will sighed and closed his eyes.

The pendulum swayed.

_Here rests Jack ... pretender to Jason, he who hunted the Great Beast and would have destroyed him, stealing the golden fleece that was his mantel of power. But the Beast, and by default this golden mantel, belonged to the Wolf, and so the Wolf butchered Jack, wrapping him in his own skin, a mantel not of power, but of stubborn hubris and weakness ... for who is like unto the Beast? Who is able to make war with him?_

Will's eyes slowly open again, razor sharp and full of dark delight. He turns from the carnage before him, eyes scanning the horizon. Hannibal Lecter stands on the periphery of the crime scene, his face an impassive mask. Their eyes meet and Hannibal inclines his head towards him in a brief nod. 

Will's features fall into those of appropriate grief and anger and he braces himself for the performance ahead. They'll be leaving tonight, he and Hannibal. Going far away from the FBI, free to start their new lives, to hunt, to evolve. He smiles inwardly. Time to shake off this mortal coil.

The Wolf strides from the scene without a backward glance, towards his Beast.

This was _his_ design.

 

FIN


End file.
